


Guarding Alistair

by Ginipig



Series: Cullistair One-Shots [17]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyguard AU, Bodyguard Cullen, Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Gun Violence, King Alistair (Dragon Age), M/M, Mild Blood, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginipig/pseuds/Ginipig
Summary: Special Agent Cullen Rutherford of the Royalty and Specialist Protection Command is honored to be chosen to head the King of Ferelden's personal security detail. From their first meeting, he finds himself constantly surprised by His Majesty's informal demeanor and open, kind personality. The longer they work together, the better they get to know one another. But Cullen is a professional — he has a job to do, and he would never cross a line by getting too attached to a principal. Not even for someone like Alistair ...
Relationships: Alistair/Cullen Rutherford, cullistair - Relationship
Series: Cullistair One-Shots [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604995
Comments: 59
Kudos: 56
Collections: Cullistair Kisses





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not usually my type of trope, but with King Alistair and protector Cullen, it's right there!

Cullen stood at the door, watching the king straighten his jacket and crown in the mirror in preparation for the press conference.

Alistair — His Majesty — hadn’t spoken a word to him today that wasn’t related to his job.

He knew that was his fault. He’d known it would happen eventually, even before last night.

But that didn’t keep his heart from breaking at every avoided glance.

_“Answer me honestly.” Alistair’s eyes twinkled. “How long have you wanted to do that?”_

_Cullen smiled softly. “Longer than I should admit.” And then he took Alistair’s face in his hands and stepped out of his arms. “But it can’t happen again.”_

The door opened right next to him, jarring him with a start from the scene that had haunted him since last night.

Leliana peeked through the door, tossing him a surprised but knowing glance, and said, “Your Majesty, they’re ready for you.”

His Majesty turned around wearing his most convincing — though not to Cullen — false grin. He clapped his hands together and said, “Let’s get this over with, then.”

His gaze flicked briefly to Cullen and then away, focusing adamantly on the floor as he left the room.

Cullen’s heart constricted. Gone were the smiles, the jokes, the kind personal questions.

_“Something on your mind, Cullen? You’ve seemed a bit antsier today than usual.”_

_The fact that His Majesty had noticed in spite of the day’s hectic schedule surprised Cullen, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. Before his coronation, Alistair Theirin had served for several years as a Warden._

_Well, now was as good a time as any. “Actually, Your Majesty —”_

_“Alistair.”_

_“Of course. There’s something you should know about me. When I left the templars —”_

_“You ceased taking lyrium,” said His Majesty. “I know.”_

_Cullen blinked. “You do?”_

_His Majesty nodded. “In fact, it was one of the reasons I chose you. Well, that and the way you handled the affair in Kirkwall.”_

_Cullen nearly choked. “And you don’t have a problem with that?”_

_“Should I?” His Majesty shrugged. “I’ve never made a secret of the fact that I dislike the templars’ compulsory use of lyrium, and I’d rather like to be protected by someone who can think on their own and follow their conscience, even if it means defying a superior’s orders.” He eyed Cullen thoughtfully. “Is there a reason you’re telling me this now?”_

_“It seemed … prudent that you know. I intended to tell you immediately, but …” Cullen shrugged._

_“I understand.” His Majesty smiled kindly, as if he truly did understand. “Now that it’s out in the open, I do hope you’ll tell me if you’re feeling ill and need time off.” He reached out and placed a hand on Cullen’s shoulder. “I know it’s your job to worry about my safety, but your health is important, too.”_

_Cullen nodded, too unbalanced by His Majesty’s gentle and genuine concern to say anything._

_“Good,” said His Majesty. “I have a meeting in five minutes, and you should know that if they yell at me for being late, I’m blaming you.” He lightly slapped Cullen’s arm with the back of his hand, and his eyes twinkled with mirth, all seriousness forgotten._

_Cullen smiled. “Yes, Your Majesty.”_

_“Alistair.”_

_“Of course.”_

Something deep in Cullen’s chest ached. It would seem the days of His Majesty checking in about his health every day were over, and he would have been lying if he’d said that didn’t hurt more than expected.

He entered the hall and fell into step behind the king and Leliana, who were discussing last-minute additions to the speech.

Into his earpiece, Cullen murmured, “Everyone in position?”

Hotels in downtown Denerim were some of the most difficult places to secure, but His Majesty had insisted on giving this speech to the general public in an easily accessible place (meaning not the palace). Cullen and his team had been here preparing since last week.

His Majesty was stopped at the entrance to the ballroom by two of Cullen’s agents. Leliana went on stage ahead of him, and the noise of the crowd faded from a roar to loud murmurs.

The agents looked to Cullen, ignoring the king’s almost petulant stance, complete with crossed arms and actual tapping foot. They were well-trained and understood that the principal’s safety outweighed any annoyance or inconvenience, even if the principal also happened to be their king.

After receiving affirmatives from every team, Cullen stepped up behind him and said, “We’re go. Break a leg, Your Majesty.”

The king turned his head just enough to possibly see Cullen in his periphery. “Thank you, Agent Rutherford.” Then he took a deep breath and walked out onto the stage.

The formality sliced across his heart, but Cullen breathed through the pain to inform his people, “Mabari is on stage.”

Applause and camera flashes assaulted his senses as he followed the king and took his usual place, a step behind and to the left.

He could see His Majesty clenching and unclenching his fists behind the podium. This was an important speech, and Cullen had seen him speak in public often enough to know his nervous ticks. He hated that last night had added to the king’s stress, but it was better this way. His team had received several legitimate, concerning threats leading up to the event, and Cullen couldn’t afford to be distracted.

His king’s life depended on it.

His Majesty began to speak, and once again Cullen marveled at how naturally he slipped into his public persona, which wasn’t even a little false, unlike those of most politicians. No, in public His Majesty was merely a more outgoing and professional version of himself. Even though he’d never wanted to be king, Alistair Theirin had filled the role like — well, like he’d been born into it, instead of hidden and shunted aside until a leaderless nation required a Theirin, any Theirin, no matter how unprepared or unwilling.

_At the sound of crashing in the king’s office, Cullen burst through the door with weapon drawn, but all he found was the king himself, head bowed and palms flat on the now-clear desk. A few final papers fluttered down to join the other various detritus scattered across the floor._

_“You can put it away,” His Majesty said to the desk. “It’s just me making a mess of things. As usual.”_

_“Yes, Your Majesty.” Though Cullen wanted to protest such casual self-degradation, he holstered his weapon and turned to leave._

_“Do you —” His Majesty spoke so softly Cullen almost didn’t hear. “Am I a good king?”_

_Maker, how could he doubt himself? Ferelden was in better shape under his rule than it had been in decades. Cullen remembered something he’d heard his father say years ago when complaining about King Maric: It is hard for a good man to be king._

_And yet, here was a good man, and a king._

_“You are the best king Ferelden could ask for.”_

His Majesty’s ability to be a good leader and a good man had always been one of the things Cullen loved most about him.

Admired — admired most about him.

The speech was a masterpiece of rhetoric. Cullen knew His Majesty had written it himself to celebrate the new elf anti-discrimination law Parliament had passed and which he’d just signed. The law was, as he’d told everyone within earshot during the past month, his greatest accomplishment since his coronation.

Hence the big speech and press conference.

As His Majesty approached the climax of the speech — which Cullen had heard him practice a dozen or so times over the course of the week — a figure in the middle of the crowd caught Cullen’s eye. It moved quickly but steadily from a back corner of the crowd toward the center.

“Does anyone have eyes on Black Baseball Cap heading southeast through the crowd?” he murmured into his earpiece. “Black trench coat, moving rapidly.”

A series of “Negative”s and “Standby”s sent Cullen’s heart and senses into overdrive. He kept his eyes on the figure as His Majesty finished the speech with characteristic humor and aplomb.

The moment the crowd erupted into cheers and applause, the figure opened the trench coat and pulled out a rifle.

“Gun!” Cullen yelled, lunging forward.

Cheers turned to screams, and he launched himself between the king and the figure, shoving His Majesty to the floor behind the podium just as a gunshot sounded across the ballroom.

His left arm erupted in hot, searing pain, and he collapsed on top of the king.

Alistair made an _oof_ sound when Cullen landed as the air was forced from his lungs.

“Cul — len!” he coughed. “Are you —”

“You okay?” Cullen asked.

“You mean aside from you crushing my ribcage?” Alistair grunted. “Yeah, is everyone —” He gasped. “Maker’s breath!”

Cullen followed his gaze to the blood rapidly soaking his own sleeve.

“You’re hurt!” Alistair tried to push Cullen off of him.

But Cullen pressed all his weight down to shield Alistair with his body; he hadn’t heard any more gunshots, but people were still screaming, and he couldn’t understand anything amid the chaos in his earpiece. Alistair still wasn’t safe, so he wouldn’t have moved even if he could have, which seemed less and less likely as his arm went numb and he grew lightheaded.

Maker’s breath, the bullet must have hit an artery. He didn’t have long.

“‘M hit,” he slurred into his earpiece. “With Mabari … on stage …”

“Mother of Andraste!” Alistair swore, before shouting out to no one in particular, “I need a medic!”

“Shh,” said Cullen, resting his forehead against Alistair’s. “Don’ draw’tention to us. Still’n danger …”

“No, Cullen, you’re bleeding.” Alistair’s eyes filled with tears. “Let me help, please.”

He struggled to free his arms, but they, too, were trapped under the full weight of Cullen’s body.

Cullen’s vision tunneled, and for a moment nothing existed outside of Alistair — his king, his principal … and yes, his love.

_As their lips met, Cullen let his eyes fall closed and pulled Alistair against his chest. He’d wanted this for so long, and he needed to savor it._

_Because it could never happen again._

_When Alistair’s tongue darted against his lips, he knew it was time. Breaking the kiss, he lay his forehead against Alistair’s._

_“Answer me honestly.” Alistair’s eyes twinkled in the brightness of his grin. “How long have you wanted to do that?”_

_Cullen smiled softly. “Longer than I should admit.” And then he took Alistair’s face in his hands and stepped out of his arms. “But it can’t happen again.”_

_He thought he’d braced himself against Alistair’s reaction._

_But his heart wasn’t ready for the way Alistair jerked backward, or the tears that welled in his eyes. Nor was it prepared for the look of absolute, utter betrayal on his face. Or the way his mouth, always ready with some witty response, repeatedly opened and closed without making any sound._

_“I — I’m sorry.” Cullen mostly succeeded at keeping his voice steady. “But it’s my job to protect you, and I can’t do that properly if I — if we —”_

_“Why not?” His Majesty Alistair Theirin demanded. He’d found his voice, and Cullen had to suppress a shiver at its icy fury._

_“It’s a conflict of interest for —”_

_“Oh, yes!” Alistair threw up his hands and stalked across the room. “How dare you care about the person you’re supposed to protect!”_

_“I have to keep a clear head,” Cullen explained. He barely resisted the urge, more desperate than anything he’d ever felt in his entire life, to wrap Alistair in his arms and tell him everything would be okay.“If I get distracted, you could —” Maker, he couldn’t even say the word. He cleared his throat and straightened. “I refuse to let anything happen to you because I messed up.”_

_Alistair, the Maker-damned king of Ferelden, turned away, shoulders slumping, a trembling hand moving to cover his face._

_Cullen’s vision blurred. “I’m so sorry, Alist —”_

_“You’re dismissed, Agent Rutherford.”_

_And oh, nothing could have prepared him for the way those words shredded his heart to pieces._

_He bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”_

Cullen forced himself to focus. “Alsstair, I …”

“Shh,” Alistair said. “Don’t talk. Help will come.”

“No, I — ‘m sorry — las’night —”

“I know.” Alistair nodded. “I know, and it’s okay. You’re going to be okay, Cullen,” he said, though his voice was shaky. “Just hold on for me, please.”

But Cullen was fading fast, and he knew this would be his last chance.

So he closed the final distance between them and kissed Alistair, desperate to convey all the emotions he had never allowed himself to express, but which were now filling his chest to bursting.

He only broke away when he heard, “Rutherford!” and feet pounding in their direction.

Tears flowed freely now from Alistair’s beautiful golden brown eyes. “Cullen …”

As his team arrived, Cullen used his uninjured arm and most of his remaining strength to push himself off Alistair and into a sitting position against the back of the podium. Dizziness darkened his vision for a moment, but the sound of his name kept him awake.

“Cullen! He needs a doctor!” Alistair cried, scrambling to his knees and ripping off his own jacket. “You’re going to be all right, Cullen.” And Maker bless him, he flashed a shaky grin. “I’m the king and you’ll do as I say.”

Cullen couldn’t help a smile at that.

_He fell to his knees in front of the toilet just in time to empty the contents of his stomach into it, each heave driving a million nails deeper across every last square inch of his skull._

_When his body had finally relaxed into a shivering puddle, he rested his forehead on the cool porcelain of the toilet._

_“Here,” said a familiar voice from nearby._

_Cullen started and straightened into his old templar straight-legged kneel. “Your Majesty, I —”_

_“No, none of that.” And the King of bloody Ferelden knelt down and handed him a cool, soft towel. “I’m just Alistair right now, and I’m worried about you.”_

_Cullen used the towel to wipe the myriad bodily fluids from his face. “But the dinner …”_

_The king stood and turned on the faucet, wetting a second towel. “It’s just Empress Celene. She’s never liked me, and there’s plenty of diplomats there to handle the etiquette.” He rang out the towel, turned off the water, and knelt next to Cullen again. “Besides, I needed a break from all the pomp and circumstance. If anything, I should be thanking you.”_

_He smiled and placed the now-rolled up towel against the back of Cullen’s neck. The cool dampness felt so good Cullen let out a moan._

_“Maker’s breath,” the king muttered, brushing a hand across Cullen’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”_

_“‘M fine,” Cullen mumbled, relishing the coolness of the towel as he wiped it across his face again._

_The king snorted. “Just how stupid do you think I am?” He took the first towel he’d handed Cullen and wet it at the sink, as well. “Even if I hadn’t done some extensive research after we talked about it, do you think I’ve never seen lyrium withdrawal before? I wasn’t always king, you know.” Once again, he placed the new cool towel on the back of Cullen’s neck, and then his voice softened. “I told you to tell me when you were feeling ill. And yet, in the past few days, I’ve watched you continue to work even as you worsened.”_

_Cullen looked up too sharply for his poor head, and he winced. “You noticed?”_

_The king looked at him like he was crazy. “You’re at my side from the second I leave my bedroom in the morning until you check it for assassins at night. How in the Maker’s name could I not notice when you’re not at a hundred percent?”_

_Cullen’s stomach churned, though not in the same way it had before he’d emptied his stomach, and his cheeks heated for a reason unrelated to his feverishness._

_“I was absolutely serious when I said your health is important. You’ve literally worked yourself sick to make sure everything was secure for tonight, and I appreciate your dedication to my safety.” He rested a hand at the center of Cullen’s back, and that felt almost as amazing as the cool towel. “But right now, let me worry a little bit about yours.”_

_Cullen didn’t know what to say. He’d served in the templars for a decade and spent the past several years working his way up the ranks of the Royalty and Specialist Protection Command, and never in all that time had a principal shown as much interest, kindness, or compassion toward him as His Majesty — as Alistair did now. He opened his mouth in an attempt to convey his thanks, but Alistair stopped him with an aggressive finger point._

_“I swear to the Maker, Cullen, if you’re about to call me ‘Your Majesty’ —”_

_Cullen huffed a laugh; for once, he hadn’t been thinking that. “Thank you … Alistair.”_

_Alistair spread his hands. “See? Was that so hard?” He rubbed Cullen’s back a few more times before standing. “When you’re feeling up to walking, go sit in the study. I’m going to have someone drive you home. And don’t even think about arguing,” he added, holding up a hand when Cullen started to do just that. “I’m the king and you’ll do as I say, understood?”_

_Cullen nodded. “Of course. Alistair.”_

_“Careful now.” Alistair smirked. “Don’t strain yourself.”_

Now lightheaded and weak, Cullen shook his head as Alistair pressed his own jacket against his wound. “No, Alsster …”

“Careful now,” Alistair said gently, one of his hands coming up to caress Cullen’s cheek. “Don’t strain yourself.”

And that was when backup finally arrived. Cullen’s agents snatched Alistair away by the arms, yanking him roughly to his feet.

“No!” he screamed. “Help him first, please!”

But the agents were well-trained, and they knew not to listen to the principal when his life was in danger; their job was to get the king out and to a designated point of safety as quickly as possible.

More for Alistair’s sake than theirs, Cullen attempted to shake his head and said, “Go.”

They listened, and Cullen sent a prayer to the Maker to keep Alistair safe, even as the man himself struggled and shouted and cursed as they dragged him away.

Cullen let his head fall back against the podium. He trusted his team to protect Alistair and capture the bastard who had attempted to assassinate his king.

He’d kept Alistair safe until then. Now his job was done.

_Cullen bowed, hoping he wasn’t forgetting any royal etiquette. “Your Majesty.”_

_But His Majesty King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden — tall in person, even taller than Cullen, and Cullen usually towered over everyone — waved away the formality before holding a hand out to shake. “You must be the new agent in charge of my security detail. I’m Alistair.”_

_Cullen blinked; he’d been warned His Majesty was not one to stand on ceremony regarding his title, but no one had prepared him to shake hands with the King of Ferelden._

_Nevertheless, he took the proffered hand. “An honor, Your Majesty. I’m —”_

_“Agent Cullen Rutherford, I know.” His Majesty grinned, and it was far warmer than the ones Cullen had seen on tv. “Your reputation precedes you. I’m the one honored and grateful to be under your watchful protection.”_

Alistair was safe. That was all that mattered.

The left sleeve of Cullen’s jacket was soaked through with blood now, and his vision began to darken around the edges.

With his good arm, he grabbed his weapon from its shoulder harness. He unloaded the magazine and emptied the round from the chamber, tossing them both away and dropping the pistol to his lap. Now no one could take it from his body and use it.

With the last of his strength, he reached into the not-yet-bloodstained inside breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out his most valuable possession, which he kept with him always.

Cullen let his hand — clasping tightly to Alistair’s rose — fall against his chest, and the words he should have said long ago drifted across his mind as he lost consciousness.

_I love you, Alistair._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Worry not! This is part one of two.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: This is not the end. There is one more chapter. Oops.

_Cullen finished his final sweep of the king’s rooms and stepped back into the hall where His Majesty waited, staring blankly at a spot on the floor while idly scratching his mabari between the ears._

_He’d been out sick from lyrium withdrawal the whole previous week, and today was his first day back. So he paused a moment to take in the sight before him. His Majesty, as was usual by the end of the day, had removed his suit jacket, which he’d slung over his shoulder, letting it hang from only his index finger. And because he hated wearing suits that much, he’d also loosened his tie and top shirt button and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Cullen had to admit the look suited the king more than the proper tie and jacket he always wore for official business, and somehow the king always seemed more comfortable, more natural, more himself when he could relax his wardrobe in this way._

_A familiar warmth spread in Cullen’s chest; if he were honest with himself, he’d missed His Majesty._

_It was Barkspawn who broke the moment, standing and wagging his tail at the sight of Cullen. The king blinked and turned to him, and Cullen hid his unexpected disappointment behind the usual decorum and polite smile._

_“All clear.”_

_The king returned his smile, albeit with one much more genuine. “Thank you.”_

_Cullen nodded. “Good night, Your Majesty.”_

_He moved to leave, but spun on his heel at the king’s urgent “Wait!”_

_“Is everything all right?”_

_“Ah, yes, sorry.” His Majesty rubbed the back of his head and chuckled. “No need to go into Super Agent mode or anything. I just wondered if you might — that is — are you off-duty now?”_

_“I am, but if you’d like to speak with me about something related to —”_

_“No!” His Majesty blurted. “I mean, yes, I would like to speak with you, but not about work. That is — I mean —” He sighed heavily, wiped a hand down his face, and tried again. “I’d like to hear how you’re feeling, and see if there’s anything I can do for you now that you’re back.”_

_Cullen blinked. “That’s very kind, Your Majesty, but unnecessary. I assure you I’m well, and —”_

_“Just — would you like to join me for a quick drink?” His Majesty pointed needlessly to the door Cullen had just exited. “We can chat for a bit and then I’ll let you go home to rest.”_

_Cullen’s instincts told him to decline, in the interest of keeping a professional distance. He was tired, and this wasn’t work-related, and he knew he should politely refuse and go home to rest._

_And yet … that warmth spread inside Cullen’s chest once again. His Majesty — Alistair — was interested in his well-being. He wanted to speak with him outside of official work hours because he cared about his health. He cared about **him**._

_Most importantly, Cullen didn’t **want** to turn down his offer._

_So he didn’t. Instead, he smiled and said, “I’d like that.”_

_The grin His Majesty rewarded him with was so genuine and warm that Cullen wondered if this was what Alistair looked like when he was truly happy._

_That grin — and Maker, those eyes — did some things to Cullen’s insides that were not entirely unwelcome, even if they did set off alarm bells he chose to ignore. His stomach fluttered pleasantly, and his heart sped up._

_Barkspawn barked and bounded through the door._

_Still wearing that beautiful grin, Alistair waved Cullen in. “After you.”_

_So they sat and they drank and they talked. Cullen quickly lost track of time as Alistair regaled him with a few of the more frustrating and hilarious events of the past week, while Cullen assured Alistair — in all earnestness — that he was feeling much better now._

_“That’s good to hear,” said Alistair. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re back. Your other agents are good, don’t get me wrong, but I missed you.”_

_Cullen’s stomach flipped, and if he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought his heart actually skipped a beat._

_“That’s not what I meant!” Alistair waved his hands urgently, as if to physically erase his words, and his cheeks flushed a furious shade of pink. “Or, that is what I meant, but I meant it like I enjoy your … company …”_

_His words faded, and he seemed to sink in his chair as Cullen gaped at him._

_But Cullen’s own face was likely a similar color, if the feverish wave that washed over him was any indicator._

_And maybe it was the alcohol, or how long he’d been out sick, or how much better he felt now, or simply how adorable Alistair looked when he was mortified._

_But Cullen leaned in just slightly and said, “I missed you, too.”_

_Alistair’s eyes twinkled brighter than the constellation Draconis, and his smile lit the room like Satine on a clear night in autumn. Then and there, Cullen decided that no, **this** was what Alistair looked like when he was truly happy._

_In the same moment, his chest filled to bursting with that warmth, and Cullen couldn’t be sure if he himself had ever been happier than he was right now._

_“Your Majesty,” he said, not quite too late to be added at the end of his unthinking confession._

_Although his heart ached when he did, he knew it was necessary._

_Alistair froze for a moment, grin dimming into a brittle shell of its former self. Then he threw his head back and groaned exaggeratedly. “Still with the ‘Your Majesty’?”_

_They both laughed, but the mood had shifted. Everything felt wrong, like they had been knocked slightly off-center, and Cullen was both horribly disappointed and immensely relieved. His heart raced at the line he’d nearly crossed — and had seen too many agents cross before, to disastrous results._

_And yet guilt churned in his gut. Was it so bad, really, for them to be friends? Cullen certainly didn’t have an abundance of those, and if he’d learned anything since he’d met Alistair, it was that kingship was a lonely business. So what was the harm?_

_He knew the answer, of course — and it lay, counterintuitively, in that happy warmth he’d only just doused — but he pushed it to the back of his mind for now._

_“I should …” **Stay!** “… probably head home.”_

_Alistair, who had been intently focused on something in his hand, looked up sharply. “Of course!” Then, glancing at the clock, he added, “Wow, it’s late. I’m sorry for keeping you this long.”_

_“Don’t be.” Cullen smiled. “I enjoyed it.”_

_And that was the problem._

_“Before you go, I’d like to — that is —” Alistair briefly glanced at whatever he held in his hand before shooting his arm out and showing it to Cullen. “Here. Look at this.”_

_In Alistair’s palm sat a rose bloom — a little wilted, but with beautiful deep red petals and a short green stem._

_“It’s … lovely.” Cullen frowned slightly, unsure what else Alistair was looking for._

_Alistair nodded, returning his gaze to it. “I was walking through the gardens last week, and this was just there, in one of the bushes, bright and cheerful as could be.”_

_“This late in the season?”_

_“That’s what I thought!” Alistair said with a grin. It faded quickly, though, and he brought his hand in closer to reach out and stroke the petals. “It was all alone out there, but strong and healthy, almost like it was daring the weather to do its worst. I probably should have left it, but I couldn’t. Some animal would eat it or the cold would come and destroy it. So I’ve had it ever since.”_

_Cullen couldn’t help but smile. Saving a lone rose was such an Alistair thing to do. It was a sad fact, indeed, that the people of Ferelden only rarely saw this kind, compassionate side of their king. In public, Alistair was most truly himself at times when he comforted the families of those who had died in the Blight, or when he played with children and made himself look the fool in order to make them laugh._

_As he watched Alistair handle the rose with a gentle fondness he wished the world could see, Cullen was nearly overcome with some emotion he couldn’t quite identify. “What do you intend to do with it?” he asked softly._

_Alistair froze. “I thought I might give it to you, actually.” He cleared his throat. “In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.”_

_And only then did he raise his gaze, holding the rose out to Cullen once again._

_Cullen’s breath caught in his throat. He had no words._

_Alistair shrugged. “I kept thinking about how ill you were the night of the state dinner, and that was because you pushed yourself so hard to keep me safe. And here I’ve been complaining, ‘Boo-hoo, Woe is me, the king of Ferelden, I hate big parties and being rich.’ You must think I’m a selfish, spoiled idiot.”_

_Cullen opened his mouth to protest — he could, **would** never think that! — but Alistair shook his head and smiled a little sadly._

_“After your experiences with the templars — everything you went through at Kinloch, and then Kirkwall!” Alistair shrugged helplessly. “You came forward even though you knew you would be punished, too, and you accepted it. And somehow you came away from all that wanting to protect government officials, to protect **me** , the ultimate symbol of authority, when you’ve been betrayed by every authority figure you’ve ever served under.” He shook his head. “You’re the most stupidly honest and noble person I’ve ever met, and I just want to tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find amidst all this …” He waved a hand around him to encompass his life. “ **Not** that.”_

_Cullen reached out, and with trembling fingers took the rose bloom that symbolized so much — that symbolized **him** and all those beautiful things Alistair somehow saw in him._

_Though he tried to avoid it, his fingers brushed Alistair’s palm, and a jolt of electricity shot through him at the contact. Heart pounding, he attempted to ignore it and focused instead on the beautiful rose that Alistair had so carefully preserved._

_For him._

_As he, too, stroked a finger across one gently wilted, velvety, red petal, he saw Alistair rub the back of his neck with his hand._

_“I guess it was, uh, just a stupid impulse. I don’t know.” A shrug, and then, “Was it the wrong one?”_

_Cullen finally looked up and met Alistair’s eyes — open and vulnerable and hopeful, like the man himself._

**_No_ ** _, he said, but no sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again, gaze never leaving Alistair’s. “No. I … Thank you, Alistair.”_

_And Alistair flashed his bright, beautiful, genuine grin that ignited Cullen’s own smile and sped up his heart and sent his thoughts once again down a dangerous path._

_He stood abruptly, barely noticing his knee banging against the small end table between their chairs. “I should go.”_

_“Of course.” Still smiling, Alistair stood as well, though much more calmly than Cullen. “It’s late. We should probably both get some sleep.”_

_Cullen nodded too quickly to be natural, and moved backward to the door, opening it blindly while still facing Alistair. His body moved on instinct. “I should — yes. Uh. Good night.”_

_Alistair followed as Cullen stepped backward into and across the hall, and the soft smile he wore as he leaned against the door jamb with crossed arms certainly didn’t calm Cullen’s heart any._

_“Good night, Cullen,” he nearly whispered. “Sleep well.”_

_Cullen didn’t breathe for the entire long moment that Alistair waited before finally stepping back and closing the door between them._

_Exhaling, Cullen closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall across the way._

_Oh, Maker. He’d always scoffed at agents who let themselves get too close to their principal — unprofessional, unwise. Unsafe, and wasn’t that the reason for their presence in the first place?_

_And he was still scoffing — rookie. Idiot. Sap._

_Gullible moron._

_But then he opened his hand and looked at the rose — **Rutherford, you romantic fool** — and nothing else mattered. His stomach fluttered, and he smiled in spite of everything._

_Maker’s breath. He’d most definitely crossed a line. And not just any line. The ultimate line._

_He’d fallen in love with the King of Ferelden._

_After a short, self-indulgent moment, he shook himself, shoved the rose in his pocket, and walked down the hall, away from Alistair’s room and toward the entrance to the palace._

_The chill night air cleared his head as he entered his car. So what if he’d gotten attached, or even fallen in love? He was a professional. A special agent of the Royalty and Specialist Protection Command. He could handle this._

_He just had to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid._

* * *

_… … beep … … beep … … beep … … beep_

Low, indistinct murmuring.

_… beep … beep … beep …_

“… want you to talk to the press …”

“… don’t care … won’t leave …”

_… **beep** … **beep** … **beep** …_

“… they need to see you in front of the cameras.”

“We put out a statement. What more do those vultures want?”

As he drifted up toward consciousness, Cullen slowly regained awareness of his senses.

He registered a constant, high-pitched beeping and quiet, low-pitched voices.

And pain. His entire left arm ached, and he couldn’t move it.

He couldn’t seem to move anything. His whole body felt heavy. But that might have been because he was just so tired …

“They won’t believe you’re unharmed until they see you, Alistair. For all they know, we could be lying about your health.”

“What the fuck kind of conspiracy bullshit is that?”

A sigh from the woman speaking. “Imagine if something similar happened in Orlais. With only a statement and nothing else, would you believe Celene was safe?”

“I don’t give a _fuck_ , Leliana!”

Cullen frowned. Alistair rarely swore or raised his voice. Why was he upset?

“I don’t care what they want to see, I don’t care what they want to hear, I don’t care what they think. The only thing I care about right now is him. Everyone else can bloody well wait!”

Maker’s breath. Something terrible must have happened. He needed to call his team and make sure they were ready for anything …

Shuffling, and then gentler voices.

“I thought the doctor said he’s expected to make a full recovery,” said Leliana.

Alistair laughed, but it was bitter and didn’t suit him at all. “He also said he was supposed to wake up an hour and a half ago. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

A hand squeezed his, large and warm and comforting.

He squeezed back.

Alistair gasped. “Did you see that? His hand just — Cullen? Cullen, can you hear me? If you can, just — just — open your eyes for me, please …”

Maker, Alistair sounded so worried and frightened. And all Cullen had to do was open his eyes?

For Alistair, he would do anything.

But his eyelids were so heavy. It took every bit of strength he had to open them, and then a sharp brightness forced him to close them again with a whimper.

“I know it’s bright,” Alistair said. “But I’m right here. You’re safe.”

Fingers stroked through his hair, and Maker, it felt fantastic.

“I’m right here,” Alistair whispered. “Can you open your eyes? Please?”

This time, Cullen pushed through the brightness until a face came into focus. A beautiful, smiling face … with puffy, bloodshot eyes.

Had Alistair been crying?

Cullen blinked, taking in the rest of the room — Alistair sat in a chair to the right of his bed, and Leliana sat on the same side next to Alistair. His left arm was in traction, which explained the lack of mobility. As a test, he opened and closed his hand.

At least he could still wiggle his fingers.

Then he turned once again to Alistair, and what he saw cleared the rest of the cobwebs from his mind and made his heart jump into his throat.

He attempted, unsuccessfully, to sit up. “You’re hurt!”

“Shh, calm down.” Alistair shook his head. “I’m safe, and so are you.”

But the blood on his shirt said otherwise. “No, Alistair,” Cullen said, vision blurring. “You’re bleeding.”

Alistair followed his gaze to the giant bloodstain covering a quarter of his shirt, and then he began to shake his head rapidly.

“No, no, no, Cullen, it’s not mine.” One of his hands still held Cullen’s while his other cupped Cullen’s cheek, forcing him to look into his eyes. “It’s not mine. I’m not hurt. I’m safe, okay?”

Cullen frowned. “Why are you wearing a shirt stained with someone else’s blood?”

“An excellent question,” Leliana responded, though her glare was aimed at Alistair. “I believe I had the same one myself.”

“Yes, yes, you were right. Now please shut up?” Alistair rolled his eyes at her, then returned his attention to Cullen. “It’s not mine, Cullen. Do you remember what happened?”

A gunshot. Screaming. Diving to protect Alistair …

Everything rushed back in a flash, and Cullen heard the beeps on the heart monitor speed up. “The speech — someone tried to —” He clutched Alistair’s hand so tightly his own hand ached. “You’re all right?”

Alistair smiled, and that simple action, more than anything else, soothed away the chaos in Cullen’s mind.

“Yes, I’m all right, you honest noble idiot!” Alistair lightly slapped Cullen’s cheek. “Because you jumped between me and the bulle —”

His voice broke on the last word, and he bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

Just seeing Alistair in such pain hurt Cullen in a way he’d never felt before. Something in his chest — it couldn’t actually be his heart, could it? — seemed to gape wide like a large, echoing cavern, and yet it brought a pressure with it, a gaping emptiness that threatened to burst him open like a too-full balloon.

His gaze flicked to Leliana and back just in time for Alistair to lift collect himself with a convincing but still false smile.

“Yes, I’m all right,” Alistair said. “Everyone’s all right, in fact.”

“And the shooter?” Cullen asked, tensing as a white-hot rage bubbled in his gut.

“Alive.” Leliana smirked. “Your agents are impressive. They managed to take her in without any further bloodshed.”

Cullen barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Yes, she had fought alongside Alistair during the Blight and her approval was gratifying, but his team had more than shown their mettle and skill time and again, and he didn’t appreciate the subtle implication that they hadn’t before now.

Instead, he asked another question. “Her?”

“Uh, yeah, Cullen,” Alistair said with exaggerated sarcasm. “Women can be assassins, too. It’s called feminism. Get woke.”

Cullen did roll his eyes at that (as did Leliana), drawing a genuine smile from Alistair, which lightened the heaviness in Cullen’s chest by a not-insignificant amount.

“Do we know why?” The rage boiled into a fierce and furious hatred toward this unknown person, and not because she had almost killed _him_.

This time, Leliana’s smirk was chilling. “Zevran is working on that. We’ll know soon enough.”

While Leliana was ostensibly Alistair’s spymaster, she also managed much of Ferelden’s diplomatic relations, particularly with Orlais. Zevran Arainai, another of Alistair’s Blight buddies whom Cullen had only ever met once — during which the man had hit on him several times, and double that on Alistair, much to the chagrin of them both — was her unofficial second and one of her top sources of information. Cullen wasn’t sure where Zevran’s intel came from, and if he were honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“Is my team involved in —”

“Cassandra and the Iron Bull are with him.” Leliana’s placid smile almost made Cullen shudder. “I do not envy the attempted assassin her position.”

Neither did Cullen. Cass was his deputy, and Bull more than made up for his lack of rank with cunning and experience.

Cullen closed his eyes for a moment and relaxed into his pillow. Everyone was safe. Alistair was alive, and the asshole who had tried to harm him was in custody.

Thank the Maker. He’d done his job. Fulfilled his duty.

And … survived? That was a surprise.

“What happened?” He opened his eyes to see Alistair watching him, concerned, and Leliana watching Alistair, unreadable. “How —”

“— are you alive after that stunt you pulled?” Alistair’s mouth was a thin line, and his tone was the same one he’d used to address Cullen after the disastrous kiss; Cullen’s heart clenched at the memory. “I was wondering when you’d get around to asking that.”

“Alistair,” Leliana murmured.

To Cullen’s dismay, Alistair closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and took several deep breaths. That awful emptiness pressed against his ribcage again, and Cullen wanted more than anything to make things right. But for now, he squeezed Alistair’s hand, hoping it would be enough.

Alistair squeezed back, and when he opened his eyes again, he was much calmer. “I put up quite a fight when they were dragging me away until Cass basically put me in a headlock.”

“For which I still owe her a drink,” muttered Leliana as she rose and crossed the room.

Alistair leveled a mild glare at her before continuing. “She told me that the faster they could get me safe, the faster they could get you help. So once I was holed up in a central room with no exit and six agents guarding me — yes, I do listen to the rules when you lecture me —” Cullen couldn’t decide if he was more annoyed or proud, so he settled on a snort-eyeroll combination. “— Cass and Rylen went back for you.” Alistair bowed his head, speaking so quietly that Cullen strained to hear. “They found you unconscious, but they got you to an ambulance in time.”

Cullen blinked back tears, not at the idea that he’d nearly died, but at the thought of what his death might have done to Alistair.

Leliana had returned to Alistair’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. Handing him a small duffel bag, she said, “You should change.”

Alistair, jerked from his pensiveness by the sudden change of topic, frowned at her and opened the bag. “What’s this?”

“The clothes I had Wynne bring and that you should have changed into hours ago.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him unceremoniously to his feet before practically shoving him in the direction of the bathroom. “Cullen thinks you should change, too, doesn’t he?”

Cullen didn’t require her pointed, wide-eyed glare to agree — the sight of Alistair in a shirt stained with his blood made him nauseous. “She’s right. You shouldn’t be covered in —” His voice gave out unexpectedly, and he had to look away.

To his surprise — and Leliana’s, if her raised eyebrow was any indication — Alistair didn’t argue. “All right. I’ll, uh, be right back.”

As he closed the door to the bathroom behind him, Leliana called, “And splash some water on your face!”

“Yes, mother!” came Alistair’s muffled voice.

Leliana smiled and returned to Cullen’s bedside, this time sitting in the chair Alistair had been occupying.

Cullen suddenly felt trapped, and more than a little uneasy.

Leliana placed a hand on his. “He needed to change clothes, but I would like to use this time to thank you.”

Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t that.

“Alistair is one of my oldest, dearest friends,” Leliana said, blinking back tears. “And I would like to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for keeping him safe.”

Unsure how to react to the stoic spymaster’s emotional confession, Cullen dropped his gaze and shrugged. “I was doing my job.”

“Oh, I know.” Leliana squeezed his hand gently. “Your motivations have never been anything but clear.”

He looked up sharply and found her lips quirked, her eyes twinkling.

Maker’s breath. She knew.

He didn’t know how, but she knew.

His cheeks heated, and because the Maker seemed to enjoy mortifying him, the bathroom door opened and Alistair walked out in time to see Leliana lean in and kiss him on the cheek.

Then his face caught fire.

“I am glad someone was protecting him when I cannot,” Leliana said, standing.

“Lels.” Alistair crossed his arms, tone stern. “You know I hate the idea of people dying for me.”

“I do.” Leliana walked toward him, smiling fondly. “That is, of course, what makes you worthy of it.”

Then she kissed Alistair’s cheek, ruffled his hair, and headed for the door.

“I should go see how Zev is doing.”

And then she was gone.

* * *

Alistair blinked and stared at the door for several moments before shaking himself and returning to Cullen’s bedside. He sat once again, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to unmuss it.

“I can’t believe you let her do that to you,” said Cullen.

“That woman could stage a coup with a snap of her fingers,” Alistair said without a hint of humor. “I’d rather remain on her good side.”

Cullen snorted, which made Alistair grin, which caused Cullen to smile.

Then Alistair laughed aloud, and Cullen’s heart fluttered at the sound. Not long ago, he’d been afraid he’d never hear it again.

When their brief moment of felicity came to an end, however, Cullen’s heart leapt into overdrive.

They were alone now, and so much had occurred since the last time they were alone that Cullen didn’t know what to say, or do, or even feel, except worry.

Fortunately, they both seemed to be in the same boat, as Alistair was fidgeting next to him.

After several Ages, Alistair cleared his throat. “I, uh …” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I called your sister.”

Cullen let his head fall back against his pillow and sighed. He shouldn’t be surprised — not only was it protocol to contact next of kin, but it was also just a decent thing to do.

He hated worrying her, though. “What did she say?”

“That she was at the airport waiting for her flight to Denerim.” Alistair smirked. “Turns out she heard what happened on the news, and when they announced that an agent had been injured protecting the king, she put two and two together.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. Of course she had. Mia was far too smart for her own good, sometimes.

“She’s a nice woman and a good sister.” Alistair frowned. “You should call her more.” When Cullen opened his mouth to object, he held up a hand. “Take it from someone who has no family — or at least none worth mentioning,” he added, almost to himself. “Don’t take them for granted.”

Cullen’s throat burned. Alistair was right, of course. Mia had never been anything but fully supportive of him, and after the death of their parents, she’d stayed home to take care of Branson and Rosalie while he finished his training and moved half a country away. She’d never stopped calling and emailing him, even after he transferred to Kirkwall and couldn’t stand the idea of facing any of them, and she had been his first and biggest supporter when he decided to turn in Meredith, accept his own punishment, and leave the Order for the RSPC.

At the same time, he couldn’t help but think of Alistair, ignored and unwanted by his father’s family even after the death of his mother. He wanted to reach out and take his hand and tell him that he _did_ have family — Leliana, obviously, as well as his many friends from his time as a Warden, and —

“Anyway,” Alistair said, looking at the clock. “She’s probably going to be landing soon, so … be ready for that, I guess.”

“Wait.” Cullen’s brain finally started putting pieces together. “Did _you_ call her?”

Alistair’s mouth hung open for an instant. “Of course I did.” He sounded more than a little offended. “Of all the things I insist on doing myself, do you really think ‘calling the family of the man who just took a bullet for me’ is something I’d pawn off to some assistant?”

“No, I meant —” Cullen shook his head. “Did she recognize your voice?”

“Ah.” Alistair dropped his gaze and failed to hide a slight smirk as he glanced at Cullen from the corner of his eye. “Almost immediately, yes.”

Cullen huffed a laugh, similarly watching Alistair from the corner of his eye. “How did she react?”

“Better than a lot of people. She was surprised, then upset that I confirmed what she was probably hoping wasn’t really true, then grateful that I called.” Alistair shrugged, staring at his hands. “She was nice, though. She actually comforted me a little when she could tell I was … not okay.”

Once again, the idea that Alistair had been so affected by his injury made Cullen’s heart ache.

“Alistair,” he said softly. “I volunteered for this. I trained for it. It’s my job.”

“I know.” Then Alistair sniffed and lifted his head, meeting Cullen’s gaze. “But not anymore. You’re fired.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You’re fired.”

Alistair’s words struck Cullen like a punch in the solar plexus — the air left his lungs in a rush, leaving him nauseated and unable to breathe.

No.

No, no, no. He’d done everything right! They’d secured the hotel, and when he noticed a suspicious person but couldn’t intercept them, he protected his principal in the quickest, most efficient way possible — with his body. And of course he and his team had followed protocol and worn kevlar vests, but that hadn’t been much protection against a shoulder wound.

When he finally caught his breath, he inhaled enough to make up for lost time.

“I don’t —” He was shaking and breathing too quickly now. “Why?”

Maker, he sounded pathetic.

“Cullen.” Alistair’s disbelieving tone and expression carried a sadness with it. “You jumped in front of a bullet that was meant for me and shielded me with your body. I was dragged to safety while you were left behind bleeding out.” His voice broke, and he continued in a whisper, “You could have died.”

“I know that.” Cullen gritted his teeth, trying to hold back his anger and disappointment and _heartbreak_. “That’s what I signed up for when I took this job, and I’ll —”

Alistair shook his head. “You can have any job you want. Anything at all. Maybe you could be transferred to somewhere else in the RSPC, or I could make some calls and find you some high-paying job in the private sector, or you can retire with full salary and benefits and never work another day. Fuck, I’ll make you the Commander of the Ferelden Armed Forces if you want. But you can’t be on my security detail.”

No. _No._ He’d been training for this job for years, ever since he left the Order. He had never considered anything else. If he didn’t work for the RSPC, what else would he do? He didn’t _want_ to do any of the things Alistair mentioned.

And he loathed the idea of protecting someone who wasn’t Alistair.

But absolute worst of all was that after the kiss and its fallout, he’d decided that his best course of action would be to keep his relationship with Alistair professional and continue to do his job. That way, at least, he could see Alistair every day, even if they couldn’t be together. He would be able to love Alistair best by protecting him from harm.

If he wasn’t assigned to Alistair, not only did he not trust Alistair’s safety in the hands of anyone else, but … he wasn’t sure he could survive without him in his life.

He shook his head vehemently, vision blurring. “Alistair, please …”

Alistair squeezed his shoulder and grasped his hand. Neither were as comforting as they were likely supposed to be.

“Don’t,” Alistair said, blinking back tears. “It’s not a punishment. It’s because …” He bowed his head. “I know if given the chance, you’d do this again in a heartbeat, and I can’t let you. Not for me.” He looked up to meet Cullen’s gaze, pressing both his shoulder and hand again for emphasis. “Please. You’ve been protecting me for so long. Let me protect you just this once?”

“I don’t need to be protected.” Cullen couldn’t move his body much, but he turned his head completely away. Perhaps he was being petulant, but Alistair was taking _everything_ from him.

Including Alistair.

“Then let me protect myself, please. Cullen.”

Alistair’s fingers brushed his chin in an effort to turn his face, but Cullen jerked away, turning even farther in the opposite direction.

Alistair let him, withdrawing his hand slowly, perhaps reluctantly. “I — I care about you. More than —” He let out a shaky sigh. “I’m just not strong enough to go through this again. So please, if you won’t let me do it for you, will you do it for me? Can I please be selfish just this once?”

Cullen, focusing intently on his injured arm, frowned. Alistair was the most _un_ selfish person Cullen had ever met — he’d joined the Wardens knowing he likely wouldn’t survive the Blight, and when he did, he begrudgingly accepted a role he’d neither been trained for nor ever wanted. He’d sacrificed the right to control his own life because Ferelden needed him.

How was _that_ man acting selfishly by firing him?

Behind him, Alistair sniffed and moved. “Well. I suppose I should leave you to rest before your sister arrives.”

Cullen turned back to see Alistair standing and looking toward the door.

Alistair blinked rapidly before dropping his gaze. “Thank you, Cullen. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. I — it’s been an honor.”

He took a step away, and Cullen moved to protest — he couldn’t leave now! Because if he left then everything would be over, and they would likely never see each other again, and Cullen couldn’t leave things like this. He _couldn’t_.

Because he understood now that he needed Alistair in his life more than he needed air, and if he was fired, then he’d find some other way to keep Alistair nearby — or rather, keep himself near Alistair, because he —

“Oh.” Alistair took something from his pants pocket and regarded it for a moment before turning back around. “This is yours. Cassandra — she said you were holding it when she —” His eyes squeezed closed, as did his hand around the object. “When she found you,” he whispered. Then he cleared his throat and reopened his eyes, which were now watery and red. “Seemed important, so you should have it back.”

And he dropped his rose into Cullen’s open palm.

Cullen breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t yet realized it was missing, but if Alistair had left after firing him and then he found out he’d lost the rose … Cullen’s heart clenched just thinking about it.

Relishing the comforting weight of it in his hand, he brought it up to rest as he had before — as he always did — over his heart.

“That’s how she said she found you. Before.” Alistair rubbed the back of his head. “Can I ask … what is that stuff? Plexiglass?”

Cullen lowered his hand back to the bed and opened it for Alistair to see, running his thumb over the petals encased in the clear, solid ovular block. “Resin. I’ve seen things preserved in it before, so I ordered some online. You mix two chemicals together in a mold, put whatever you want inside it, and then pour the rest over the top. Takes about a day to cure.”

What he didn’t say was that after Alistair had given him the rose, he’d spent an entire weekend testing different mixture ratios and mold sizes with over a dozen carnations he’d bought for less than a dollar a pop. In the end, he’d succeeded in getting the total size of the block down to a quarter of an inch thick and a little smaller than his palm, and after the resin had hardened, he’d sanded it into an oval shape. It had ended up heavier than he’d wanted, enough to slightly weigh down his inside jacket pocket, but after a day or so of carrying it around, he decided he liked the weight. It was a constant reminder — of the kind things Alistair had said about him, the things he doubted were true but which he aspired to be one day; and of Alistair himself, who saw the best in him, whom he’d finally realized he loved with all his heart even if they could never be together.

“That’s … pretty cool, actually,” Alistair said, his chuckle off-key and forced. “Such a you thing to do, preserving something in such a practical way.”

Cullen barely managed a quirk of his lips.

Alistair swallowed rather loudly. “Is it the one that —”

“Yes,” Cullen whispered, focusing on the rose.

Alistair once again inhaled a shaky breath. “Was there a reason it was in your pocket today?”

Cullen looked up into Alistair’s beautiful but tear-filled gaze. “It’s always in my pocket.” He shifted the rose to where it always sat when inside his jacket — right over his heart. Where he’d clutched it after Alistair had been dragged away, where he’d moved it without thinking just moments ago when Alistair had given it to him.

Alistair’s eyes widened. “Always?”

“Always.”

They held each other’s gaze for an eternity, and Cullen swallowed back words he longed to say, but couldn’t, coward that he was.

Then again, what was he afraid of? He’d already lost his job. What else did he have to lose?

Only the most important thing.

“Cullen, I —”

“I love you, Alistair.”

“— love you.”

The words left their mouths at the same time, to their mutual shock.

“You do?” they asked simultaneously.

“Then why did you —”

“Why do you think I fired you —”

“— fire me?”

“— you big idiot?”

Again, they spoke at the same time. Then they both blinked.

“What?” They spoke together for the fourth time.

Alistair collapsed into his chair once again. “Maker, we’re both idiots.” And he laughed, burying his face in his hands.

Cullen didn’t think any of this was remotely funny, nor did his heart, its speed publicly transmitted by the beeping of the traitorous monitor.

Alistair glanced at it, his smile shy and unsteady. “Mine’s pounding, too.”

Cullen couldn’t return the smile. He could barely even breathe. So he dropped his gaze to his blanket and fiddled with the rose, which he often did when he was nervous.

Alistair’s slightly trembling hand came into view and covered Cullen’s, ceasing its movements. Without thinking, Cullen twined their fingers together, and, as if they’d done it a thousand times before, Alistair did the same, sandwiching their rose between them.

“What in the Maker’s name did you think I meant when I said I was being selfish?” The softness of Alistair’s thumb caressing the back of Cullen’s hand belied his somewhat accusatory tone. “You almost died because of _me_. I’m too selfish to let that happen again. Silly me, wanting to keep you alive.”

Cullen’s head snapped up. “You were the one that started to leave!”

“Only because you wouldn’t even look at me!”

“I was thinking!”

“No, you were angry at me.” Alistair leaned forward, his beautiful golden brown eyes carrying something that made Cullen’s breath catch in his throat. “Don’t think I don’t know how important your work is to you. But if you love me enough to die for me …” He closed the distance between them and their foreheads together. “… then I love you enough not to let you.”

At that, Cullen did the only thing he could, immobile as he was.

He squeezed Alistair’s hand — their rose still clutched between them — and lunged to meet Alistair’s lips.

Alistair let out a soft cry and thrust the fingers of his free hand into Cullen’s hair, scrambling and stumbling to sit on the bed and practically falling onto Cullen as he dove deeper into the kiss.

Clumsiness aside, this kiss was so very different from the others they’d shared. Cullen had savored those, believing that both were the end and that he’d never be blessed with another. The first time, he’d been preparing to break Alistair’s (and his own) heart; the second, he’d attempted to show Alistair the true depth of his feelings before he died.

But this kiss … it wasn’t the end of anything.

It was a beginning.

One Cullen had never dared hope for before, but which bloomed with more possibilities every second.

Because Alistair _loved_ him, and he loved Alistair, and neither could live without the other.

So, instead of dwelling on every _im_ possibility, as was his wont, Cullen shifted slightly away, releasing Alistair’s hand — leaving the rose and evoking a soft whimper — to throw his one good arm around this man who loved him in spite of (and, by some miracle, because of) everything, and holding him as close to his chest as possible.

And when Alistair responded by bringing his hand, still clutching their rose as if his life depended on it, to Cullen’s face and caressing his cheek, all of Cullen’s thoughts evaporated, and his mind and body surrendered completely to the intoxication of love and happiness and Alistair.

* * *

What felt like an Age (but was likely an embarrassingly short time) later, fatigue settled over Cullen, and Alistair insisted he lay back down to rest.

But Cullen hardly minded with Alistair laying next to him, resting his head on Cullen’s good shoulder and holding Cullen tightly in his arms, as if afraid he might disappear otherwise. Cullen’s single functional arm stayed wrapped around Alistair’s back for similar reasons.

The rose sat on Cullen’s chest where Alistair occasionally smiled goofily at it.

“I still can’t believe you went to all that trouble to save it.”

Eyes closed, Cullen kissed the top of Alistair’s head, breathing in the soothing scent of his hair. “I wanted to remember,” he murmured, still conscious but losing the battle against his fatigue. “No one had ever spoken about me like that before or given me such a gift. That night, you told me you loved me even if you didn’t say it, and I needed to remember how that felt. Because even though I knew I couldn’t do anything about it, that was when I realized I loved you, too.”

Alistair said nothing for so long that Cullen began to drift off.

Something rumbled against his chest, and he sighed a “Hmm?”

A sniff, and Alistair whispered, “Why?”

Cullen’s eyes snapped open, and only then did he register a dampness on his hospital gown.

“Alistair?”

But Alistair didn’t respond.

Now Cullen was wide awake.

Had he possessed full use of both arms, he might have been more gentle, but as it was, his options were limited. So he shifted his hand to grip Alistair’s hair and pulled, forcing their gazes to meet.

The tears that once again filled those beautiful but red, puffy eyes broke his heart, and concern pulled soft words from him, unthinking. “Why what, my love?”

The endearment shocked him — and Alistair, too, if his slight gasp was any indication.

Lip trembling, two tears flowing down existing tracks, Alistair whimpered, “Why do you love me?”

The question left Cullen breathless for a moment. He couldn’t be serious?

“I just don’t —” Alistair hastily wiped his eyes with his palm. “I’m not worth all this. I certainly don’t deserve the sort of devotion that drives people to _die_ for me. I’m not smooth like Zev, or brave like you, or smart like Leliana or diplomatic like Leliana or conniving like Leliana. I’m just a nobody. A bastard who sucks at being king because I was never supposed to come within a hundred miles of the throne. It just doesn’t make sense why someone like you would —”

Lacking any other painless way to do so, Cullen stopped Alistair’s mouth with a kiss. As he did, he was struck by a realization.

Alistair had presented Cullen with a rose, said such beautiful things about him, tried to kiss him, watched him jump in front of a bullet, and fired him to keep him safe, while Cullen had run away, pushed away, kissed him before telling his people to take him away, and now suddenly revealed a treasured rose and declared his love.

Alistair didn’t know why Cullen loved him because Cullen had never told him.

When they parted, Alistair’s eyes remained closed, and Cullen kissed the tears from his cheeks.

“Do you remember when you asked me if you were a good king?”

Alistair nodded.

“Do you remember what I said?”

Eyes still closed, Alistair whispered, “‘You are the best king Ferelden could ask for.’”

“I believe it even more now than I did then. Do you know why?”

Alistair shook his head.

“Your heart.”

At that, Alistair opened his eyes to level an unimpressed glare at him.

For the first time, Cullen rested a palm on Alistair’s cheek and caressed it with him thumb. “I know how it sounds, but it’s true. You are a good man who truly cares about the Fereldan people. You gave up the life you could have had to take the throne and serve them. You fight hardest for those who cannot fight for themselves — elves, children, the impoverished, people affected by the Blight. All those things like smarts and diplomacy can be taught, but kindness can’t. Nor can unselfishness or humility, which is what allows you to surround yourself with people more experienced than you. You are a good king for the very reason you think you’re a bad one — because you _weren’t_ born into it.”

Alistair’s cheeks pinked, but he rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m a good king. But that doesn’t explain why —”

Cullen lightly brushed Alistair’s chin. “The things that make you a good king are the same things that I love about you. I’ve never met someone of your station more concerned about others than themself. No principal has ever cared about my health before, much less asked me about it daily, and certainly not to the point that they would leave an important event to tend to me. You picked a lone rose so it wouldn’t freeze or be eaten. And you always make me smile.” He leaned in to rest their foreheads together. “I am sorry that I haven’t —”

This time Alistair stopped Cullen’s mouth with a kiss, wetting both their cheeks with his fresh — and hopefully happy — tears.

“Maker’s breath, I love you so much,” Alistair said, burying his face in Cullen’s shoulder and clutching him desperately. “When they dragged me away, I thought you” — he sucked in a gasp that was more like a sob — “and a part of me died inside, too. _Please_ , Cullen, don’t ever worry me like that again. I don’t think I could survive losing you. Especially not like that.”

Cullen said nothing for a while, running his fingers almost absently through Alistair’s hair. He felt the same way — someone had tried to kill Alistair today. What if he hadn’t been there to stop it? “I just — I’m not sure I trust anyone else to protect you.”

Now Alistair sucked in a gasp that was definitely a laugh. “Cassandra dragged me away from you, put me in a headlock, got me to safety, and then went back to get you medical help. She saved both our asses, not to mention that she’s not — what do the regulations say? — ‘emotionally compromised,’ like you are.”

The realization coalesced in the pit of Cullen’s stomach. He tightened his hold and kissed the top of Alistair’s head. “I suppose so.”

“Exactly. So shush.”

He did — at least out loud. But he couldn’t stop his racing thoughts.

Because now that he was less drowsy and a little more clear-headed — how much morphine had he been on? — he understood what he’d been too emotional to see before.

Alistair was right to fire him.

Even if Alistair hadn’t returned his feelings, Cullen had crossed a line, broken the rules, gotten too close. He _was_ emotionally compromised, as was painfully obvious now that he had time to think about it. Would he have noticed something earlier, stopped the shooter before she even entered the building, if he hadn’t been distracted by the kiss, or Alistair’s painful formality, or the quality of the speech, or the way Alistair filled his role as king? Had Cassandra been in his place, would she have been able to take control of the situation before any blood had been spilled?

He’d failed his team and his country.

He’d failed _Alistair_.

They were both damned lucky to be alive.

“You didn’t fail me, Cullen,” Alistair said, and only then did Cullen realize he must have spoken at least the last bit aloud. “You saved me, and the only person who got hurt was you.”

“But you’re right that I’m compromised.”

“Which means someone else will be better able to protect me? Checkmate.” Alistair walked his fingers up Cullen’s chest and face and tapped him on the nose in a disgustingly adorable display that made Cullen’s chest tighten in fondness. “So let’s sum up, shall we?” He began to tick things off on his fingers. “One: you won’t be in harm’s way.”

Cullen inhaled to protest, but Alistair stopped him with a finger to his lips.

“Two.” Alistair added a second finger to the one against Cullen’s lips, and Cullen smiled in spite of himself. “I’ll be better protected because the head of my detail won’t be compromised. Three —” Alistair raised a third finger against his lips and grinned when Cullen pressed a kiss to them. “Three is my favorite. Because if you aren’t protecting me, and I’m not your ‘principal’ …”

He said the last in a mocking tone, then withdrew his fingers to spread his hands wide, as if to say _ta-da_.

“No pesky rules or regulations or duty to the crown to keep us apart.”

Cullen blinked. He hadn’t even considered that. “You fired me because —”

Alistair took Cullen’s face in his hands and kissed him so gently shivers ran down his spine. “Mostly the first reason. But the second is good rationale, and the third is a most convenient and pleasant bonus.” He ran his fingers through Cullen’s hair, letting his gaze roam up and down Cullen’s face. “It’s not your job to protect me anymore. We’re both safe, and now we can be together. So _please_ stop beating yourself up.”

Cullen sighed. It would always be his job to protect Alistair. But that didn’t have to mean jumping in front of bullets.

He could protect Alistair from the stresses of the throne by listening to him complain about his days, from despair by providing a steady shoulder to cry on and a ready shield at his back, from loneliness by holding him close at night.

Only Cullen could protect Alistair in the most important way — by loving him the way he both needed and deserved.

Gently — as Alistair deserved no less and far, far more — he caressed Alistair’s cheek, and with a kiss sealed his vow to protect his king until his dying day.

When they parted, Alistair’s eyes remained closed for a few moments. His soft, happy smile made Cullen’s stomach flip with adoration and utter bliss.

“Technically, I don’t actually work for you.” Cullen smiled, his lips moving against Alistair’s. “So you can’t fire me.”

“Hmm.” Alistair pulled back just enough for Cullen to be overwhelmed by one of those grins he loved so much. “I requested you, though, so I can un-request you whenever I please.” Then those eyes twinkled with a mirth Cullen knew well. “You may not know this because you’re always bossing me around, but generally speaking, when I tell someone to do something, they recognize my authority as king.”

“I’ve always recognized your authority, Your Majesty.”

Alistair cocked an eyebrow. “About time you finally showed some respect.”

Cullen laughed and threw his arm around Alistair, yanking him hard against his chest. “I love you.”

Alistair looked up and grinned. “I love you, too.”

They gazed at each other for what felt like an eternity, and Cullen almost felt dizzy with happiness.

Eventually, it was too much, and their lips met again and again and again, and Cullen knew he would never have enough of Alistair.

Between kisses, he asked softly, “You wouldn’t really let me command your armies, would you?”

“Mmm.” Alistair sighed, eyes still closed. “I’ll give you anything if it keeps you by my side.”

“I’m hardly qualified.” Cullen kissed him again. “And there’s no need. You already have me, my king.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

At that, Alistair’s eyes snapped open. “Aha! My dastardly plan has succeeded! You have finally sworn to me your eternal fealty, mwahahaha!”

Cullen laughed. Somehow he found himself falling even more in love, and he hadn’t thought that was possible.

“Now, what should I order you to do first?” Alistair tapped his chin thoughtfully before raising his finger with an exaggerated gasp. “I know! _Rest_.”

He tapped Cullen on the nose as if casting a spell and then snuggled into his neck. Cullen had never been so eager to follow an order.

Except …

“Shouldn’t you go speak to the press and let the country know you’re alive?”

“The country can bloody well wait,” Alistair said into Cullen’s neck without hesitation. “I’m right where I need to be.”

That sounded perfect to Cullen. Placing a hand over Alistair’s, which held their rose and rested over Cullen's heart, he let himself drift to sleep, happy and safe in the arms of the man he loved.

* * *

Some unknown amount of time later, they both woke with a start to an ear-piercing squeal.

Mia stood at the foot of the bed, both fists in the air. “I knew it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait for the last chapter. I needed to make it worthy of the first two.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting, and especially to my Cullistair Corner crew (TatteredLeaf, Aurlana, and gowombat83) for keeping me motivated and being positive when I wanted to bash my head into a wall. I love you all! 🥰💚


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